He didn’t budge. “Thought I was doing just fine sucking air. After all, I’ve been doing it for almost twenty-five years.”
She planted her hands on her hips. “I’m inching toward twenty-seven. So try respecting an elder and get on the floor.”
His features were an expressionless mixture of ice and stone, as cold and inscrutable as a glacier. “You aren’t what I expected, Margot Kowalski.”
“Oh yeah?” She hooked a strand of loose hair behind one ear, feeling scoured by his stare. “Is that good or bad?”
“I dunno.” He laughed hoarsely.
“Quite the endorsement,” she quipped.
He didn’t answer.
“Tough crowd.” She pointed to the wool carpet on her bamboo floor. “That’s where I want you.”
“How long is this going to take?” he asked gruffly, shrugging out of his jacket.
“You believe in hockey practice, right?”
He arched a brow.
“Yoga is practice too.” Patch looked so... big... kneeling down beside her pretty floral floor cushions. And overtly masculine. Like a piece of avant-garde art. Not pretty. Not conventional. But riveting in his own way.
“You’re not what I expected either,” she said carefully.
“Oh yeah?” He pressed his arms to his sides, stiff as a mummy. “Yeah?”
“I imagined you more of a bully.” The admission burst from her. “I’m sorry. That came out wrong.”
“No. It didn’t.” His gaze pinned hers. “Honesty is a lost art. If we’re stuck working together, that’s what I’m going to ask for.”
“Deal.” Her neck was hot, like sitting out by the pool and getting a slow sunburn. “I think that I expected someone meaner. Instead you’re...”
He waited, his chest not rising.
“Different,” she concluded.
Not nice. But... interesting.
There was perfect silence for two seconds... three... four. She broke it with a shuddering inhalation, blinking fast as if coming out of a daze.
“So...” She nodded to his cap beside him on the floor, desperate to say something—anything—to fill the empty air. “Red Sox, huh?”
His brows knit. “What about it?”
So much for small talk. Looked like he preferred this strange, heavy silence.
“Never mind. Let’s return the focus to the breath.” She sat cross-legged beside him. “I want you to put all of your attention right here.”
A tremor rippled through his abdomen at her touch. The motion vibrated through her skin, jarring her bones. Last summer, she’d been knocked around in the surf while boogie boarding in Mexico. The ocean spun her like a sock in a washer. Her insides now experienced a similar sensation.
“See, there goes your chest again, rising first.” She swallowed thickly. “If you don’t breathe correctly, it can leave you at a deficit during a game. Healthy breathing patterns are how your body maintains a fast metabolism and delivers oxygen to vital organs. If you breathe fast or don’t inhale deep enough, the pH in your blood spikes. This decreases the amount of blood getting into your brain and muscles and as a result, less oxygen is released.”
She put a hand over the spot she’d collided into and allowed a tight smile as she felt the pounding within. “Well, well, well, looks like you have a beating heart beneath all that brooding.” She winked. “But don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”
His hand gripped her wrist, moving so fast that she didn’t have time to gasp.
He was bigger, broader than most of the skinny-hipster-techy guys she encountered around the Denver singles scene. Just all around... more.
